


Nightcap

by days4daisy



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: He leaves the door open. Not for the first time. An invitation yet to be accepted, but extended nonetheless.





	Nightcap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).

> Hope you have a nice Shipoween!

Malcolm wakes before the sun. Sweat blankets him like dew on spring grass.

In his youth, he was afflicted by fever too. The Nile stretched before him, a mirage to one dying of thirst. His sickness now is of a different kind, one of staying still when every shred of his being wants to run.

But how can he leave this house?

The thought drags him from beneath his bed sheets, the cold floors unpleasant to his bare feet. Quickly, he slips into his house shoes and fetches the robe draped over his bedpost.

He steps out into the hall, and inevitably to Vanessa’s room. It will always be her room, the door left ajar. Lights from outdoor street lamps form puddles across the floor. The bed is bare of clothing, the room’s only adornment the crucifix set upon the wall. 

Malcolm's path takes him down the hall. He pauses on the steps. Against the front door, a figure hunches. Back curled low, one leg extended. In the darkness, he appears to be nothing but shadow. As if close enough, Malcolm’s hand would cross right through.

“Ethan,” Malcolm says, for he knows this isn’t the case. 

Ethan’s hair has grown, shielding his eyes from view. As Malcolm’s eyes adjust, he sees the tight press of Ethan’s mouth. A familiar scowl, dismayed but resigned to it. This family of theirs is built on the constant companionship of misery. 

“It's late,” Malcolm says.

“Early,” Ethan corrects. He rasps as if he, too, has been stirred from sleep against his will. Malcolm knows better.

Malcolm descends the final steps. “I thought I spied a dusting of frost on the ground,” he says.

“Yeah?” Ethan replies. Certain words betray his origin more than others. This one twangs, short of breath. His London years have done nothing to dull the west in him.

Ethan’s coat is unbuttoned. The black shirt under it is shredded through, skin pale as the night’s full moon beneath.

“I’m in need of a nightcap,” Malcolm says. “Will you join me?”

“It’s morning,” Ethan tells him. He runs shaking fingers through his hair. It falls right back over his face.

“I’ve seen the frost but no sun,” Malcolm says. “Until then, it’s a nightcap to me.”

Ethan heads stays low, but across his lips crosses a hint of a smile.

“Come on then,” Malcolm says. “A bit of spirit could do us both good.”

This earns a small laugh. “A bit of spirit…” Ethan looks up finally. His eyes seem to dance with sadness. “I don't know, Malcolm. I think I’ve had enough spirit to last the rest of my life.”

“I doubt that, after all we’ve seen,” Malcolm says. He means the words in jest, but their seriousness bleeds through.

Ethan nods in agreement and manages to pull himself upright. He braces hands against the front door for balance. A wince, and arms wrapped close.

Malcolm takes one of his hands and turns it. Shallow, thin scratches bleed across his palm. Claw marks. He glances at Ethan’s face. Ethan is no longer looking at him, downturned and grimacing.

Malcolm releases his hand and leads the way into the living room. Ethan follows slowly, his boots a heavy presence on the floor. He has a taste for whiskey, so this is the bottle Malcolm plucks from his collection, along with two glass tumblers. He pours at his desk and hands one to Ethan.

Even with his robe, the room is cold. Not worth the effort of starting a fire at this hour. Daylight will dispel this early kiss of winter.

Until then, spirit will do. The taste is a warm comfort on his tongue. “Do you know where you go?” Malcolm asks. “On these nights?”

Ethan winces behind his drink. He allows himself a thick swallow, half his glass drained in a single go. “It’s clearer than it used to be.” His voice is like gravel. “Before, it was just flashes. Now, I remember. Not everything. It’s still- not everything. And I don’t want to. Not all of it. But.... Out of town, I think. Along the outskirts where it’s greener. There was...livestock.” He drains what remains in his glass. "Cows and such."

Malcolm sets down his own and refills Ethan's without comment. This second round, too, is half-drained in a single swallow. 

“You bear this burden with as much responsibility as one can,” Malcolm says.

Ethan’s laugh is bitter. “I’d lock myself away if I could sometimes. Starve it out of me. Or starve myself in the process.”

Malcolm leans against his desk. “And leave me alone in this house?” He raises a brow.

Ethan’s next laugh is more accepting. “I don’t think either of us could survive that,” he says. Also meant in jest, Malcolm thinks, but a true statement all the same. Ethan finishes his second glass. He waves off Malcolm’s offer for more. 

“Not alone, no,” Malcolm agrees. “But together we make do.” With another sip, he glances at the empty fireplace.

Ethan follows his gaze. “I could start it up if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow night perhaps,” Malcolm says. “The effort would be wasted now, I think. You insist that it’s morning after all.”

“I think the nightcap convinced me,” Ethan says. His smile turns pensive as he looks into the empty hearth. “There aren’t many who know what it’s like. I told Victor once. It’s like those children out west pulled from their home tribes. Never welcomed back, but never welcomed in their new life either. Their lives are short and sad, roaming between worlds. Vanessa knew. I think you do too.”

Malcolm ends his glass on a final swallow. “Do you need something for your hands? Bandages or-”

“I’ll be alright,” Ethan says. His thumb restlessly combs the side of his empty glass. 

Malcolm nods. “A bit more sleep then, until the sun refuses to allow it.”

Ethan nods. “Goodnight, Malcolm.” A pause, and a softer, “Thanks.”

Malcolm leaves him for the stairs. As he crosses the hall to his room, he hears the sound of water downstairs.

He pauses to listen, gazing into the empty cavern of the room that was once Vanessa’s. Once a source of such life. Anger, sorrow, the terrifying, and the sublime.

Malcolm stops at his own door, fingers hovering at the knob. After a moment, he continues inside. He leaves the door open. Not for the first time. An invitation yet to be accepted, but extended nonetheless.

Morning has indeed begun. The room is a touch warmer than it was before Malcolm’s descent. His toes do not sting as they did when he sheds his house shoes and drapes his robe back over the bedpost. Malcolm rests himself down, hoisting the covers to his chest. He lies on his side, facing the empty end of his bed.

His eyes stay open until he hears the tread of boots crossing the upstairs hall. There is a pause at his door, a breath that shakes beyond the wood. 

The hinges give a soft creak as the door is cracked wider. Shifting sounds flood the room - the removal of the coat, the shoes, the irreparable blouse.

Malcolm looks on as new weight dips the mattress. The covers are drawn back by hands cleaned and wrapped.

Ethan looks down at him. His eyes say too much to be understood. But Malcolm thinks he does in his own way.

Ethan lies on his side, Malcolm faced with the pale expanse of his back. He breathes out slowly, and his shoulders rise and fall.

This is the first time. Though yet an unnamed condition, Malcolm knows it will not be the last.

He sets a hand on Ethan’s waist. His skin is warm but bears a soft layer of goosebumps. Touching him is like an attempt at reading Braille. Ethan blows out another breath. Slowly, he shifts. Close enough for Malcolm’s lips to graze his back.

Ethan relaxes under his hand.

Like this they lie until sunlight casts away the final shadows of a long night.


End file.
